By Kim Harmon
I am not sure what I want
my tendons ache for a touch that does not burn
my muscles know nothing but this fire.
Most days, when my body lets me
dream, I see a garden
painted in swirls of soft jade, bold yellows
butterflies and bees float like bubbles
against the dewy morning sun
bouncing from tulip bunches to iris blooms
blue feathered birds bathe near the sapling birch
while my daughter dances barefoot
among the dandelion and clover
her laughter is the only thing that reminds my body
that I am alive, that I need to be alive.
Most days I am not sure if I am enough
for her— I garden a plot meant for two caretakers
I tend the strawberry patch, pull out the weeds
water the lilies and will them to bloom again
I mend branches broken by hands
that never knew gentleness
I have made this land our Eden
yet it will never be enough
there will always be fruit just out of reach
a bud that never blooms
a seed that never sprouts.
I am not sure what I want, but most days
when the setting sun sets our garden ablaze
I know our love is plenty.
Kim Harmon is a Latina poet from Southern Arizona. Her poetry is influenced by music, nature,
and her fascination with Theology and the divine. Her days are spent reading and singing with
her daughter, while her nights are spent writing and listening to Bad Suns. Her Instagram is
@khpoetry_
Hot Pot Magazine 